New Lease on Love Page 3

  With ten years' worth of hindsight, Nick realized he never should've married Laura, but at twenty-two, he'd been too young and lovestruck to know any better. True, his love for her had probably been the force that had propelled his amazing bank career. And true, he'd been happier with her than he'd ever been before.

  But he'd also been miserable. As time had pulled the veil from his eyes, he'd watched the very qualities that had attracted him to her sharpen and distort. Her adventurous spirit, her spontaneity and independence—he finally saw them for what they really were, nothing more than egocentrism, immaturity and recklessness.

  Not even Katie's birth had changed her life-style. He'd thought it would. Not that he'd wanted to put Laura in a cage or anything, but did she have to enter all those motorcycle races? Did she have to drive so fast all the time, even to the corner store? And did she have to take Katie with her?

  Nick's hands whitened around the steering wheel. Laura almost had taken Katie with her. When he'd seen his tiny daughter's broken body splayed out on the emergency-room table, he'd thought for sure he'd lose her, too.

  Without a doubt, that was the worst day of his life. He remembered it with perfect clarity—the timbre of the policeman's voice calling him at work… the words "There's been an accident"… the sense that his nightmare, the nameless terror he'd been living with since falling in love with Laura, had finally taken solid form.

  He'd left a client sitting at his desk and raced across town, his driving so erratic it was a wonder he hadn't had an accident himself. Then the blinding hospital lights… and dreamlike words falling from a policeman's mouth, words clanging like steeple bells in his brain…

  They'd shown him Laura's body, but she'd looked too beautiful. She'd looked as if she were just sleeping, and Nick had tried to rouse her. She refused to awaken, though, no matter how hard he'd tried, and the doctor's words about a broken neck finally joined the rest of the clanging in his overheated brain. That was when the rage had struck, tearing through him like a runaway train.

  Unfortunately, the doctor chose that very moment to tell him about Katie, that she'd been on the bike, too. Nick remembered grabbing him and shoving him hard against a wall. Luckily, the police were there to restrain him and help make him realize Katie was still alive.

  Katie. He'd been appalled by how banged up she was. He'd never felt such pain in his life. Even now, he could see her—her eyes begging him to save her, reproaching him for having let this awful thing happen. That look would remain with him forever.

  He would never forgive Laura for causing Katie to suffer so, but Laura wasn't the only person Nick blamed. He couldn't help thinking he was at fault, too. He could have tried harder to change her, to deter her, or at least to protect Katie. Granted, he had argued with Laura. Toward the end, they seemed to do nothing else. But was it enough? Couldn't he have found some other way to get through to her? Weren't there measures he could have taken to ensure Katie's safety?

  But he hadn't. He'd failed to stop Laura. He'd failed— and for this he'd feel responsible the rest of his days.

  Katie's plight had forced Nick to pull himself together immediately. Laura might be gone, but Katie was still alive, and she needed him. For the next two weeks, except for the funeral, he never left her side. Sitting there watching her, there were times when he felt that his strength was her strength, and if he gave up, so would she. He was keeping her alive by sheer willpower and vigilance.

  Katie's doctors eventually took her name off the critical list, and after weeks of being strong for Katie, Nick collapsed in exhaustion. It was then, lying in his own bed at home, that he realized he was alone, and that he would be forever. Laura was never coming back. Until then, the reality hadn't sunk in.

  Months passed in a blur of sorrow. He returned to work, he paid the bills, he bought groceries. He functioned. But Nick remembered it only as a time of putting one foot in front of the other, and he often wondered if he would've done even that if it hadn't been for Katie. Because of her, he kept going. He had to be strong, through her painful recovery, through repeated surgery.

  Nights, however, remained difficult for the better part of a year. With most of his energy sapped during the day, he often dropped at night into a morass of loneliness and wanting Laura back. And rage. Rage was always there, too, wound through his pain, deep and tight. He'd curse Laura's self-centeredness and stupidity. She'd had no right doing this to him and Katie. But when the cursing was done, he'd turn to the cold half of the bed and fall asleep clutching her pillow. That, he discovered, was the dark side of love; the deeper it ran, the sharper was the anguish.

  There was nothing he could do about all that love now. It had already been given. But he could certainly guard against the future.

  Friends had tried to tell him otherwise. They'd introduced him to women, encouraged him to give love another chance. One day even Katie's doctor had talked to him about "getting back in the swing." And he'd obliged them— on the surface. He'd taken women out, to dinner, to concerts and the theater. But none of those well-meaning friends or experts had been through what he'd suffered. They hadn't a clue.

  No, there would be no more loving in his life. No dizzy raptures. No blind leaps into marriage. He was an adult now, not a raw kid. From here on in, he'd be in control. Love might have its highs, but it also had its lows. And Nick didn't need any more tickets to the dark side of the moon.

  That was what he found so appealing about Grace. He saw her without the distortion that came with high emotion, and what he saw convinced him she'd be good for him and Katie. She was everything Laura hadn't been. She loved to tend house, to cook and clean and fuss over the people in her life. And she was responsible. Even the thought of Grace Lockwood riding a motorcycle was ludicrous.

  Of course, they'd probably never know the kind of physical excitement he'd shared with Laura, but he was well past the point of believing sexual attraction was the basis of a good, lasting marriage. He and Laura had shared a fiery attraction, yet the rest of their marriage had been in shambles. Grace had so much more to offer: stability, a reassuringly calm life-style—and chocolate-chip cookies fresh from the oven at least once a week. Katie desperately needed someone like Grace in her life, and one of these days he should get off the fence and ask her to marry him.

  Pine Ridge Road was a long, rural affair winding north from the village, through the forested valley, past a few isolated houses, to the ski area and beyond. As Nick drove by the cottage with the "Balloon the Berkshires—Office" sign on the front lawn, his thoughts again turned to Chelsea Lawton and their unfortunate meeting at the hospital. At the same time, he reached for the package of antacids on the dash.

  It was too bad the encounter turned as negative as it had. He'd really rather liked her before she'd embarked on the touchy subject of hot-air balloons…the healthy glow of her complexion, the fragrance of spring rain in her hair, even the solid weight of her breasts under that voluminous rain gear as she'd bumped into him.

  Her eyes, though. He'd never seen eyes that color before, silver-gray that looked like lake water at dawn. It was all he could do to keep from staring. And when they'd been in the waiting room, had she been conscious of his attention? Had she sensed how tightly coiled he was trying to contain his awareness of her? From the way she'd bolted after he'd looked at her that one time, he guessed she had.

  Perhaps he shouldn't have reacted so strongly when she'd told him about her business. A simple "No, thanks" would've sufficed. But the thought of Katie's going up in one of those things had short-circuited every synapse in his brain. Polite conversation had become impossible, and abrasiveness had replaced his usual even temper. He'd almost lost his daughter once, and once was quite enough. He'd take no more chances with Katie's life.

  Besides, how slight were the chances of accidents happening in a hot-air balloon? As far as he knew, human beings had very little control over them. They went wherever the wind took them. He was sure he'd even read accounts of people bei
ng killed…

  No, he'd definitely done the right thing. First reactions were usually the best reactions, and everything inside him had screamed out against this Chelsea taking his daughter for a ride.

  The only problem now, however, was that his job was going to be more difficult. After letting the woman know what he thought about ballooning, telling her he needed the property she'd been leasing for the last six years was going to appear like a personal vendetta. Nick drummed his closely trimmed nails on the steering wheel and blew out a long, discontented sigh.

  Katie looked at him. "Whatsa matter, Dad?"

  Nick pulled himself up sharply. "Nothing, Spud. Nothing."

  Within seconds, though, with his words still hanging in the air, everything was the matter. Out in the meadow below Pine Ridge stood Chelsea Lawton and her damn balloon!

  Katie drew in her breath with a hitch of excitement. "What's that? Oh, Daddy, look at that!"

  Fascinated in spite of himself, Nick eased up on the gas. By the time he reached the Balloon the Berkshires billboard, the car was rolling at a snail's pace. He stared out at the huge balloon, a carousel of jewel-toned stripes—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple—each gore a different festive color. Seven or eight stories high, it had to be, gently swaying against the clear blue morning sky.

  Katie was out of her safety belt and over the seat in a flash, nose pressed hard against the window behind Nick.

  Nick had no trouble recognizing the redheaded nurse from the hospital. She was standing inside the wicker bas—good Lord, those things really were just made of wicker!—and she was pulling on something that caused a loud, whooshing flame to shoot up into the dome of nylon.

  Chelsea was examining the trailer hitch behind her Jeep, her shapely jeans-clad bottom aimed directly toward the road. Nick sensed she knew he was there, but didn't want to turn around. A dark-haired man wearing glasses was sitting close by on the flatbed trailer hooked to the Jeep. He was leaning toward her, and Nick wondered irritably who he was. His eyes were on Nick's car, and he seemed to be giving Chelsea a furtive blow-by-blow.

  "Can we stop, Dad?" Katie pleaded.

  But Nick barely heard her. Emotions too confused to sort out were roaring in his ears. He stepped on the gas and sped up the road. He couldn't think about Chelsea Lawton now, nor those enormous gray eyes of hers. Not now, not ever.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Hope he got an eyeful," Chelsea's brother, Larry, drawled as the blue Volvo took off.

  "Maybe he was thinking of asking for a ride." Mimi was equally sardonic.

  Chelsea felt unaccountably rubber-legged as she straightened and turned. In an abrupt fit of rebelliousness, she made a vigorous arm gesture that would have had her Italian grandfather roaring.

  "Ditto!" Mimi seconded with a laugh.

  The car glinted and disappeared around a far curve, then reemerged on a high road within the compound of ski buildings. Chelsea squared her shoulders defiantly. It was too nice a day to let Nick Tanner get under her skin.

  But he was there nonetheless. Who was he, anyway? Where the devil had he come from? And more importantly, why? Mr. Lockwood had been running Pine Ridge by himself for as long as she could remember.

  Maybe she would've gotten some answers if Katie hadn't been so adamant about leaving the hospital the other day, but because of Katie, her conversation with Nick Tanner had ended all too abruptly, leaving her hanging in midspeculation.

  From the little that had been said, however, it was obvious that Mr. Tanner did not like hot-air balloons, and the one-month lease still sitting on her desk was beginning to make a horrible sense.

  Chelsea hated thinking about their meeting. Her stomach knotted every time she did. The situation wouldn't be half so difficult if their history had begun with Mimi's introducing them. Then the only images haunting her would be those of his being imperious and unreasonable. She could handle that. Unfortunately, they'd met before, and within those ten or twelve previous minutes an entirely different communication had taken place. She knew it was silly to read meaning into so brief a time and so thin a conversation, but knowing didn't make it any easier to forget. Neither did it prevent that small breathless rush whenever she pictured his smile.

  "Anyone want coffee?" she called, shaking him off with an effort.

  "Yes, please!" Larry answered gratefully.

  Larry and Mimi were her crew today, and like her they'd been up since before dawn. But there were no complaints. Larry was a pilot, too, though he still didn't have his own balloon, and many a morning Chelsea had roused herself from bed to crew for him.

  Chelsea reached into the Jeep for her thermos and three cups. She wished she were doing a charter today, but all she had was a lesson—Jeff Roche, a cocky seventeen-year-old who insisted on earning his license. Usually she took up a few students at a time. It was more economical that way, and they learned from each other. But today was set aside strictly for Jeff.

  "It's getting late, Chelse," Larry said, eyeing the wind sock atop the billboard.

  She handed out the steaming cups. "I know."

  Ballooning days started early because that's when the air was at its calmest. As the sun rose, so did the wind, and usually ballooning became impossible until dusk, when the winds of the day again died down.

  "He should've been here almost an hour ago," Mimi complained. "It isn't fair we do all the work. He should pitch in, too. He's the one who's supposed to be learning."

  "I know," Chelsea again replied.

  "You shouldn't even be giving him a lesson after the stunt he pulled last week," Larry added.

  A smile tugged Chelsea's mouth. "Maybe it'll be the last one he'll need."

  Larry squinted at her through his scholarly, steel-rimmed glasses. "What've you got up your sleeve, sis?"

  "Nothing!" But she knew that wasn't so. Jeff Roche deserved to be taught a lesson. His indulgent father had already bought him a balloon—brand-new, state-of-the-art— and last week, with only two flight hours under his belt, Jeff had taken a notion to embark on a maiden voyage. By some quirk of fate that protects fools and young children, Chelsea had been driving by his house just as he was about to lift off from the back lawn. She'd been so furious she'd all but knocked him out of the basket. She'd lectured him about the complexity of ballooning and how dangerous it was if a pilot wasn't skilled. She'd also threatened to blacklist him with the Licensing board, but she suspected little had sunk in.

  "Well, look who's decided to show," Mimi commented.

  The teenager skidded his red TransAm into the field and revved the engine irritatingly before turning it off.

  "Hey, what's happenin', guys?" he called as he unfolded his long, loose limbs from the car.

  Chelsea strode off to the basket, deciding it was better to make herself busy than to start lecturing again. She checked the two safety helmets she'd thrown in earlier, then the instrument panel on the rail. Next she tested the sandbags tied over the side. She almost never resorted to using ballast, but today she suspected it might come in handy.

  "Great morning, huh, Chelse?" Jeff grinned as he slid over the rail.

  "Wonderful," she replied flatly.

  A short time later, the giant balloon was straining to be airborne. Chelsea was about to unclip the tether line, when she spotted something moving through the meadow. She shaded her eyes against the sun. "What the… ?"

  "My Lord! That's Katie Tanner!" Mimi exclaimed.

  Katie came running toward them in her uneven gait, nearly out of breath. An eager smile dimpled her cheeks.

  "Katie, what are you doing here?" Chelsea climbed out of the basket, giving the child—and then the empty road— a worried glance.

  "I wanted to see," Katie explained, almost falling backward as she gazed up at the towering balloon.

  Chelsea looked toward Pine Ridge, dread prickling down her spine. "Does your father know you're here?" She knelt and held the little girl by the waist.

  Katie pouted as she pondered an a
nswer. "Yes," she said in an uncertain voice. Chelsea was sure it was a fib.

  "Hey, it's time to start," Jeff whined.

  Chelsea stood up. "If I were you, Jeff, I wouldn't remind anyone of the time." But she knew he was right. She looked at the others helplessly. "We can't just leave her."

  "I'll stay with her," Mimi offered.

  "I'm shorthanded today as it is. I can't spare you."

  "Can I go for a ride?" Katie asked expectantly.

  "Oh, no, honey…" Chelsea answered.

  "Why not?"

  "You… you just can't."

  "Are you going?"

  "Yes, I am, but…"

  Mimi leaned over. "Katie, remember me?"

  Katie remembered all right. The nurse. She scowled, inching closer to Chelsea.

  "You walked all the way down from Pine Ridge just to see us?" Mimi tried again.

  "No. The balloon."

  "All that way. My goodness!" Mimi caught Chelsea's eye and winked. She got the point. Katie wanted to see the balloon so badly she'd walked more than a mile regardless of her leg.

  There was little Chelsea could do about that now, however. Katie's father hated balloons, and as pigheaded and self-defeating as his stand was, she knew it was the only stand that mattered. Meanwhile, the sun was getting higher, and clouds were scudding at a worrisome pace.

  "There's only one thing we can do," Chelsea decided. "You two will have to take her back to her father. We can't leave her here, and we can't tell her to walk back up the hill. I doubt she'd make it. Take her with you in the Jeep. You'll be going right by the ski area, anyway. Detour in and drop her off. Which building is your father in, Katie?"

  Katie didn't seem to like this turn of events. She took a while to answer. "The one with the big windows."

  Larry chuckled. "Great. They all have big windows."

  Chelsea shrugged. "Do your best. Okay, let's get going." She got into the basket again and fired the burner.